Transformation: Beauty and the Beast Retold
by Calcifersgrl
Summary: CH 8 up! The price of a blood-red rose brings together an inhuman, beast-like Beast, and the daughter of the woman who cursed him in an enchanted castle, where no one knows the future except that which is recorded in an enchanted book. Not your tradition
1. Default Chapter

Transformation: A Retelling of Beauty and the Beast  
  
Author's Note: I'm back from vacation. Thank you everybody who's been reviewing my story. I've changed the prologue which is now chapter one instead. You might want to read it too, cuz it's a little bit different. I've got chapter two written and posted. I'm so happy. I've finished that. I've been busy, and now there's the worry of school starting, but I'll try to keep up with the story. Please enjoy the story and remember to read and review!  
  
Chapter One: The Tale of the Enchantment  
  
A hand larger than the average hand reached for the book resting on the gray shelf that was sprinkled with dust and strewn with cobwebs. The hand bore faint resemblance to a human one as coarse fur concealed the skin beneath, and nails too long and too sharp to be normal extended out of the fingertips. The book fell out of its secured place and into the reaching hands. The book was bound in leather, giving an old, aging look to its cover, but as he flipped through the yellowing pages, the words that were magically transcribed stood out in bold black ink. It did not seem so long ago. He flipped backwards until he reached the second page. He already knew the first page, a short history about a king, and detested reading it again. His eyes were still sharp, and he read the miniscule writing by the light of the melting candle sitting on his desk.   
  
***  
The people were afraid; they feared for their lives, their villages, and their children. The king had to be stopped. He could not go on with his warmongering attitude; he could not find reason to shed blood over the littlest incidents. He could not lead the country into a war that would surely end in land flooding with spilt blood. The king was a danger, to himself and his country. He would have to be deposed of his throne. The people hesitated to arm themselves with weapons for they refused to be hypocrites, for how could they kill when they disliked the king killing others? They gathered in a hushed group and summoned the most powerful of them all. They sent forth the witch woman Anessa to curb the king's love of the hunt, obsession for flowing blood.   
  
And so she went. She did not arrive in splendor at the king's castle with a chariot of flaming horses, streaming white hair, and eyes only too happy to perform such a spell. She entered the throne room wearing frayed patchwork clothing after two hours of riding on a borrowed brown horse. Living under the reign of such a hard king had turned her face gaunt and as white as a bone picked clean. She did not want to depose the king, but if his throne was empty, perhaps the country would have a chance to prosper.   
  
The king received his visitor and was disgusted by the pale coloring of her face, her limp faded brown hair, and the hollow eyes that stared at him. She, in turn, noted that the king was young, early twenties, much too young to be such an evil tyrant, but evil never minded whose head it settled into. He was the embodiment of perfection. Golden hair that shone un-streaked, cobalt blue eyes that showed nothing but superficiality and a thick block of ice that could not be melted. He was tall and adorned with heavy gold jewelry and luxuriant velvet, and with his golden scepter in his hand, he looked very kingly and just. But he was not just and was not apt enough to be king. A man like him was barbarian, and could only belong in the North with the barbarians, but here he was, a kingdom ruled under his hand, and the heads of thousands rolling at his feet.  
  
"Speak," he commanded, and she spoke. She spoke of his lust for blood and the hazard it was to the country and to him, and how it must be contained or stopped altogether. He could only look amused and deny her request. Loosing herself in her rage, the simple spell vanished from her mind and was remade into an enormous redemption plot.   
  
"You are a miserable monster," the witch snarled, her knobby arms in the air showing her rage. "Have you no care for what becomes of your lands and people?"  
  
The king was nonchalant; one foot tapped the ground, sending rhythm echoing through the throne room. He looked bemused; he studied the cuticles of his carefully groomed fingers. "I am the king, and I shall do what gives me pleasure, and no one shall say otherwise." His face did not turn. His cold cobalt blue eyes stared down at the woman. "Guards, take her away from my presence."  
  
Four burly guards emerged from the king's side, and one grasped the woman's bony wrist. "Right away, your majesty. This worthless piece of pond scum will be gone."  
  
But the woman yanked her wrist away, angrily. "You may call me pond scum, but the true pond scum is you! You may be a king with your endless wealth and pretty face, but you are nothing more than a monster. A true beast. I curse you. I curse you and your servants and your castle and your land. You are what you are. A monster, a beast, and so be it. By my will, no one and nothing will ever see you more than a beast. But," the woman added, her mouth twisting into a smile, "you shall be able to see yourself as human. Your hands shall be human to you, but to others who shake it, it will be the hands, or shall I say claws, of a monster. Mirrors will reflect your monstrosity and shatter from your ugliness! And with that, o king, my curse is complete." The woman's tone rang with triumph and hatred, and the guards trembled at the knees. Only one person stood undaunted; it was the king.  
  
"Rubbish," he said rising from his magnificent throne. "Filth. Garbage." He laughed, and his laughter bounced off the pillars, magnified. "I must say, old woman, you will have to try harder. I have commoners in rags by the dozen who yell curses and cusses. At least yours is original. The others say 'A plague on you, you spiteful king. May you die before sunrise' or 'May your skin break out in boils' or 'May God strike you down with lightening' and other nonsense. I am not afraid of you, but you should be afraid of me. . . Bow down to me," he commanded with sudden vehemence. He was now an arm's length away from her. "Bow down to me, old woman," he demanded once more.  
  
The woman was far from old. She may have been in her late twenties. Despite her sagging face, her eyes were strong. She held the king's gaze, black eyes glaring into ice. He was the first to drop his eyes. She spat in his face. Shocked, the king lifted one velvet sleeve to wipe off the clear saliva that dripped down his cheek. His face flamed red.  
  
"Guards," he commanded, his voice shaking with unrestrained fury. "Put this despicable thing in the dungeons where she belongs." He addressed the woman. "For your curses and your rudeness, you shall be beheaded. Let that be a lesson to you, although too late to be undone."  
  
"Yes," she breathed, her voice spitting out venom. "Let that be a lesson to you, too late to be undone. I had given you a second chance, but you did not take it." She raised a hand to the sky and twisted her wrist stiffly. "And it is done." Her voice was soft and calm and eerie.  
  
The king laughed forcefully. "You have done nothing to me. You can do nothing to me. You have thought to curse me in my own ground. Here in this castle, I am king, and you are nothing but a peasant. You should not have forgotten your place for you will die now."  
  
The woman smiled grimly. "You think I have done nothing, but that is my curse. Everything around you sees and senses you for the beastly thing you are. Listen to your voice. Can you not hear your growl? Look at your hands. Can you not see the illusions they are?"  
  
The king opened his mouth to hiss, but all that escaped was a low growl. It was definitely not human. The guards backed away nervously, staring at the fearsome thing that had been their king. The king caught the fear in his guards' eyes. He stretched his hands out before him and flexed. His fingers looked human, but when he ran a hand over the other, he felt only the rough hairs of an animal and the sharp claws of a beast. He dashed to the mirror that lay on his throne. Hands that looked human clumsily grasped the mirror handle. He only saw his reflection for an instance before the glass shattered, spraying his neck. He brushed off the glass particles off his neck. He did not feel smooth skin, but hair the rough texture that lay over his hands. He could not see fur, but he felt it there. He had seen his reflection, if only for a moment, and he knew.  
  
"What have you done to me?" he snarled, aghast, remembering the beastly face.  
  
"You know what I have done," replied the woman. She shook her head at the four guards that were trying to creep out of the castle. "You cannot get away. I have cursed your king, the castle and the land. Now it is your turn for enchantment." Her wrist twisted slightly as she grasped an invisible force of power. The guards froze in the blinding light. When the light had receded, they had disappeared. Along the wall appeared four new hideously-disfigured stone statutes.  
  
"Where are they?" whispered the king. "What have you done?"  
  
"I've condemned them to life as stone statues. I think I shall have my servants, the sylphs, serve here. They are loyal to me, but they shall also pledge their loyalty to you. They will wait on you as your own servants have done. But, unlike your servants, they are not malicious nor corruptible." The woman gave a distorted smile. "You are still king, o mighty beast. But what will do you have now? You cannot control the commoner's lives any more. They shall live in more peace than you could give. They shall prosper, while you despair. You, your servants, and your miserable castle shall despair."  
  
"How can this curse end?" cried the king desperately. He cried, but he heard his own pained growl with his ears. He winced.  
  
"Oh yes," mused the woman. "Every curse must be able to be undone; every enchantment must be breakable." She clasped her fingers together and thought. "Your enchantment, my horrid beast, shall be undone when you learn pity and heart-wrenching sorrow; when you learn compassion and true love. But that's not all. I cannot make it too easy for you, your majesty. If you love, your love must be returned. And this must be true love, where sacrifices will be made. Only then shall this castle and land and its inhabitants be restored to their natural form. But here's the catch. You may not tell anyone about the enchantment; it is forbidden."  
  
"But who can love the beast you have made me into!" raged the king, his deep voice reverberating.   
  
"But who could love the beast you were?" she asked mockingly.   
  
The beast did not answer.  
  
"I have not made you into a beast," she said. "I have just made your inside appearance lap over to your physical one. No one made you into a beast. You did that part yourself."  
  
"The curse will be impossible to break. No one will see past this," he protested, casting a hand out to the side. It looked human, but he knew it was the paw of an animal.  
  
"You will be surprised," answered the woman, "There are girls out there who are not only skin deep. You shall see. But of course, it may take a while, centuries perhaps." She smiled again and continued, "After all, you said yourself, 'Who indeed could love a beast?"'  
  
***  
He shut the book without exerting fury. There was a time when he had wished to tear the pages of the book out, and had tried to do so. But the magical nature of the book was stronger than his strength, and no matter how he tried to dispose of it, it could never be undone. The book had been a parting gift from the witch woman who had cursed him; it was intended to record down his doings for her and him to both read. How she could read the book was beyond him. He had not seen her ever since that fateful day almost two decades ago, and if she had chosen to show her face to him once more, he did not think even what little humanity had so far been returned to him could stop him from eating her. He supposed that he should be grateful to her that at least he did not age. His illusory hands were still the hands of a twenty-year-old king, not the hands of a withering forty-year-old. But he could not force gratitude out of himself.  
  
A slight wind chilled him. He knew without turning that one of the sylphs had come to bother him. By the sound of the cool voice that cut through the air, he knew it could only be Sibyl. Sibyl the sylph was tall and slender and entirely composed of frosty air. She extended one airy arm and laid her cold hand on his shoulder. He turned.  
  
"I see you are reading the book again." That was all she said.   
  
"So?" He was sulking again. "I've read it backward and forward, and only half of that book has been filled. There's no hints, no secret messages. There's nothing that can tell me what will happen in the end. How can this be a book if there is no ending?"  
  
"The ending hasn't come about," said Sibyl gently. "This story ends when you have redeemed yourself and have been reverted back to human form or when you realize you are doomed to be nothing but a beast and take your life. I do not suggest doing the latter of the two. It has been almost twenty years - less I think; there is time; be patient. Someone's coming."  
  
It was very much like Sibyl to end their conversation with an oracular note. True to her name, she was indeed a prophetess. Something's coming, thought the Beast. Something, no, someone is coming. Sibyl had never been wrong before; she could not be wrong now.  
  
He eagerly leafed through the pages until he arrived at the last page opposite a blank one. In freshly written ink were two words that glared at him in the waning candlelight: Someone's coming. The words seem to tease him, wink at him, bait him - and he stared stonily at it until they faded into the page and disappeared. The page was left as it had originally been. If the sylph predicted it and that wretched witch woman had written it, someone indeed must be coming. But who? Who on earth could get so lost that he or she would wind up at his castle's door?  



	2. Beauty

Chapter Two: Beauty  
  
  
Soon after Anessa the witch woman cursed the king, she found out that she was to have a baby. And as one who had sworn to practice the magical arts and to put aside men, she had been faithful. She had never taken a husband nor a lover. It must be a sign, she decided, though she could not imagine what sign it could possibly be. It must be the will of the gods, she thought, although her faith in the gods wasn't very strong.   
  
The first thing she did was to move out of the country, as did most of the villagers. They had heard the raging roar of the Beast echoing from the castle through the windows of their houses day and night, and they were frightened.  
  
"What if he decides to punish us?" cried one man.  
  
"He'll come after dark and take our babies to feed his monstrous appetite!" screamed a woman.  
  
"Not just the babies, foolish woman," said the woman's husband. "He'll kill us all. We're conspirators and he'll kill everyone." At that, he had turned to Anessa and shouted, "We asked you to curb his love of the hunt, his hunger for blood! But what you have done is worsen that obsession. As a beast, he may freely kill, and he has no need of a conscious! What you did was wrong, Anessa."  
  
With a sickening heart, she realized that was true. In that moment of uncontrollable rage, she had done what her fickle heart had desired and not what her duty called for. She had made a mistake. "I - I," she began feebly, " there's a boundary around the woods. I've made it that he can go no further than all the way through the woods, but he cannot come out of them."  
  
"That's all the worse!" snapped the man. "He'll be that much more close to the villages. And what if he breaks free from this limitation, if he finds a way around that spell? Then what? He lives his life pillaging our villages, and then there will be nothing left of us than our blood and bones. We can only abandon this place, move south, spread rumors and spin wild tales about this Beast in hopes no one will ever find his dreadful castle."  
  
And so they had. All the inhabitants left and moved south, or west or east, though curiously neither of them moved north. Anessa migrated east to live near the sea. She had never seen it before and was awed by it. There, she also found a husband in a well-to-do ship merchant named Ralph. Nine months later, he did not even notice that the children born did not look like him. They did not look like her either.  
  
There were three of them, triplets, all baby girls. Anessa was exhausted from the labor, and had a suspicious feeling that her life would be over before the night was over. There was too much blood loss in having to give birth to three. Many women died giving birth to one baby; there was no doubt about her fate since there were three!   
  
"Carol," she murmured weakly to the midwife. "Let me hold the first baby, my firstborn." Without words, the midwife handed the baby with dark blonde hair over to the mother. Anessa tickled the baby's toes gently. That gesture erupted a gurgled laugh out of the girl. "Laughter," she mused to the baby, looking at her blue eyes. "Joy. Happiness. You have the look, you have that gift. I shall name you Allegra - Allegra as in happiness, laughter, and optimism."  
  
She held out her arms for the second baby with brownish-red hair. The midwife exchanged babies with her and watched as Anessa named the second child. She looked at the absent-minded look in the brown eyes and the whimsical smile on the baby's pink mouth, and smiled down at the face. "You're obvious aren't you. Dreamer, a storyteller. Dreams - where all hope springs from. I shall name you Aisling as in dream, my little dreamer."   
  
Without prompting, the midwife yet again exchanged the babies and placed the third baby in the tired woman's arms. Instead of swiftly naming her, Anessa only stared. The third child had golden hair - so gold it was almost white, and when it opened its little eyes, Anessa could see the iris was amber. "A golden child, such a beauty," she whispered to herself. The baby stared at her with a quiet seriousness that was eerie in a baby. And with that knowing look, Anessa felt a violent shock take over her body. "Oh gods!" she cried. "I didn't mean it. The Beast. It was a mistake. I can't reverse the spell. Done is done. Oh gods, that wasn't meant to happen. . ." She was still rambling and jerking as the horrified midwife took the golden child out of Anessa's arms.   
  
"Anessa!" cried the midwife. "Calm yourself. Calm down you didn't mean it. Nothing happened. Take a deep breath and breathe it out." She caught one of Anessa's flailing hands and held it.   
  
The younger woman stopped moving about and was still. She folded her hands and then reached out for the third child again. "May I hold my baby?" she asked in a trembling voice. Once the golden child was in her arms again, she didn't react violently. She contented herself by rocking the girl back in forth in her arms. "Isn't she beautiful?" she whispered to Carol, her voice fading as her life was starting to dwindle. "I can't think of a name for her. She's so golden, such a beauty, my beauty . . ." Anessa slumped back into the pillows, her arms still tight around the baby; the baby started to bawl at the top of her lungs, and the midwife knew that Anessa was dead. No one seemed to notice how a butterfly had suddenly appeared outside the window.  
  
***   
  
There hadn't been a time when Beauty hadn't heard the story of the naming. Carol the midwife was an old family friend and told it to them every time she visited. She was getting a bit strange in the head - she must have been about sixty at least - and never seemed to remember that the three girls had already heard it at least twenty times or more. No matter how absent-minded the former midwife had gotten, her story was always the same, no details were left out and none were added in. The part that chilled Beauty the most was when Carol got to the part where Anessa was naming her. The strange fit that had taken her mother at the exact moment she had looked into Beauty's eyes and the yelling about a beast and spells were very alarming. But the story did explain her unusual name. No one in the city had names like Beauty or Hope or Patience or Joy. Most of the girls had names like Cassandra or Irene or Helen. Her mother had died before giving her a proper name like Allegra or Aisling. The midwife had started the habit of calling her Beauty after how Anessa had supposedly called her "my Beauty."   
  
She bore no resentment to her odd name. She had always been Beauty. It was also a good thing that she matched up to her name. It would have made city life unbearable if she had been homely. But the city and other memories of her time there were stashed in the back of her mind. There had been a time when she lived there, but that time was gone. There had been a time when Beauty and her family had been exceptionally wealthy, but those times were gone, and now they were no richer than the next villager.   
  
Beauty's two elder sisters (they were elder than her by some minutes) missed the city terribly. Allegra missed the galas, the balls, and the eloquent charming young gentlemen. Aisling, the middle sister, didn't mind missing the social events so much for she was a bit quieter. But she did make a dramatic fuss over having to live in the country. To describe her performance as dramatic was quite an understatement. She burst into noisy tears, and through her sobs, she wailed, "Oh, how awful! How simply awful! What shall we do? We shall be forced to labor with cows and pigeons and all sorts of dreadfully filthy animals!"  
  
Father, of course, kindly said, "We shan't become farmers and raise any animals if you like, Aisling, my darling. But think of this as an opportunity. Wonderful possibilities staring you in the face! You may dream whatever you like; you shall be like those wispy little heroines in those King Arthur tales you like so much!"  
  
Aisling lifted her tear-stained face and smiled. "Father, they're called damsels in distress."  
  
"Alright. Damsels in distress," he replied. And after that, Aisling didn't mind anymore; she was even a bit excited about their move to the country.  
  
Beauty, at age seventeen, didn't mind. She wasn't the outrageous flirt that Allegra was, or the dreamer that Aisling was. She was the most sensible of the three sisters, and as Father liked to complain: "I should be blessing my lucky stars that I have a daughter with some sense, but sometimes I wonder because she's as stubborn as Old Ro." (Old Ro was their horse, and the most obstinate animal for miles around.) Beauty had always been the quietest of the girls. While Allegra and Aisling strove to be the center of attention, she slipped away to be alone. It was becoming increasingly hard to be by herself when everyone seemed to want her attention.  
  
Father had purchased a small house with the little money they had in a village in the remoter west. He explained to his daughters that their new environment would be rather quiet. The country folk liked the serenity very much, and that their villages weren't villages at all. There was a good distance between one house and the next. There was a Village Square and market, but that was at least half a mile away. And so, Father had concluded, they'd be pretty much left to themselves.  
  
Allegra had grown sulky because she adored attention. She needed people to feel alive, but she grudgingly consented because she had no other choice than to go to the country. The young men in the city had offered her their hearts, if not their wealth, but she would have none of them, saying that she had no interest in marriage if not for love.  
  
"Aren't they disappointed?" Beauty had asked her one evening.  
  
Allegra laughed cheerfully and continued stitching up the hem on a skirt that needed mending. "Of course they are - at least I should hope for them to be."  
  
"Then what is the point of keeping their hopes up?"  
  
"Flirting, you mean? Oh, Beauty. Sometimes you can be so naïve that I think that you're younger than me by ten years instead of ten minutes! Flirting is fun. I won't get married until I love him." Beauty really was ignorant of the outside world. While her sisters spent their time at the soirees, she spent her time alone, either accompanied by a notebook and pen. That was her hobby: writing. She wrote about everything and anything.   
  
"Until you love him," echoed Beauty, repeating the words thoughtfully. "And what is love exactly?"  
  
"It's more than you and your writing, Beauty. It's - it's love. It's hard to explain."   
  
"Oh, love is grand." Aisling had spoken. She had swept into the room and spun around, her skirts billowing out. "Love - love is that feeling you get when you can't sleep, can't eat, can't feel. There's nothing wrong when that happens, it's just that you're so gloriously alive with love, that you don't need the others. Love makes you feel as if you're walking on air, as if you could battle twelve giants, anything for him . . ."  
  
"Just listen to her," Allegra whispered scornfully, as Aisling went on and on and on about love, well enraptured. "That's what you would say when you're a dreamer with your head clogged with clouds and nothing else. She does have a point though. Love does make you feel as if you could face twelve giants. Love makes you either extremely foolish or very brave. I know how much you hold fools in contempt, Beauty, but love is possibly the most wonderful thing you'll ever find in your life."  
  
"I don't think I'll ever find love. It does sound foolish, and I'm too young for such thoughts," declared Beauty disdainfully, lifting her nose in the air in a mock imitation of one of the city girls.   
  
"More the fool you are," teased Allegra affectionately, ruffling Beauty's hair. "But you're so stubborn you'd never recognize it either if it was right in front of your nose."  
  
Aisling had stopped her dreamy reverie to chime into the conversation. "But that's our Beauty for you. Sensible in some aspects and downright stubborn to the bone."  
  
The sisters were like that often. They were the best of friends even though they were so awkwardly different. Father thought it was good how each one of them were so wonderfully themselves, unique in all aspects. When they first came upon the sight that was to be their house after a week's travel on Old Ro and in a rented carriage, each of them had a different reaction. Allegra merely raised one eyebrow; Aisling despaired; and Beauty - she raised a blank face, showing neither dejection nor satisfaction. None of them had been raised to housework; they had had servants to do the dusting, the sweeping, the washing, etc. . . for them in the city, but they managed. Allegra was determined not to pine for the city and all she had left behind. Beauty showed a cheerful face, and even Aisling didn't keep up her moping as they cleared the dusty cobwebs and such. The country was such a change to the bustling and bumbling of the city. Beauty found that she loved the peace that the lush green hills brought. It suited her quiet nature and her need for privacy. She also discovered the perfect writing corner: sitting on a tree branch high off the ground. Plus, the sunrises and sunsets were gorgeous there.   
  
For the first year, they rarely left the little house for the house needed a lot of work to be done. Father would leave for the Village Square and market to gather supplies and search for work. He managed to come under the good graces of one ailing man with no heir, and inherited his general store. Once he had found work and his home was nearly all the way furnished, he brought his daughters to town to be introduced.   
  
"These," he announced in a jolly voice to the Mayor, "are my darling daughters." He pointed at each as he spoke, "They are triplets, but this is the eldest of them: Allegra. This is Aisling, the second oldest. And that is Beauty, my youngest."   
  
The Mayor smiled and graciously welcomed them to the village of Arrowpoint. He also introduced his two sons (handsome young men who gladly kissed the girls' hands in greeting.) And afterwards, the Mayor presented them to the villagers. "I hope you will give Mr. Sutherland and his beautiful daughters, Allegra, Aisling, and Beauty, a warm welcome into Arrowpoint." Indeed, the villagers displayed much interest in the latest family and gave a hearty applause. Being new and beautiful, the three girls soon captured the attention of the whole town.  
  
It wasn't obvious which of the three was the prettiest, although most voted for Allegra. Allegra, with mischievous blue eyes twinkling, sparkled with charm and finesse. Her charm was her gift to make her companions burst into gales of laughter at her wit. She hair had darkened from its dark blonde to a brown the color of beachwood. It was shiny and so long that it floated gently past her waist. Father had insisted on cutting it, but she held firm in her decision to keep it long. She was the only girl in the village to have waist-length hair, and she liked being the only one. Her hair had always drawn attention to her. Back in the city, she had plaited her hair with diamond beads for balls. Her hair was a part of her, and if she ever cut it, she wouldn't be the same. In all of her eighteen years of life, she had only cut it three times.  
  
Aisling had auburn hair so dark that it was almost brown. Her dark expressive eyes always held a faraway look, as if she didn't really belong in the country. That was her special attribute, and though it was not much, young men fell heads over heels in love with her eyes. Dark, misty eyes that sighed and swam with tears. Her swains tended to be among the macho crowd who held in their minds the image of a helpless, adoring wife.   
  
Beauty, on the other hand, had pale golden hair that seemed to radiate in the darkness. Her eyes were so light a color that they seemed honey or amber. Her skin was pale, as befitted her hair color. Beauty glowed, that was the only word to describe her. When she walked down the street, everyone could not help but turn around and stare. She gave them a feeling of light and happiness just by being there. She might have been the prettiest if she didn't always have a serious expression pasted on her face. It made her look a little too solemn for their tastes.  
  
With the three of them standing together in the Village Square, it was no wonder that they captured the notice of all the eligible young men there, who ranged from the Mayor's son to the lowly street sweeper. Allegra was thoroughly delighted and basked in the attention, although she said it wasn't as good as the city. Aisling was slightly disappointed when there didn't seem to be an adventurer among the throng, but she too enjoyed her admirers. Beauty's reaction to the love-struck suitors was violent; she hid herself away by refusing to come to the Village Square anymore. She was eighteen, an age when girls could get married, but the incessant proposals scared her. It was uncomfortable to be followed around. It seemed that she had attracted unwanted attention just by being herself. The more she seemed to retreat into herself, the more the suitors were encouraged. They would start to ride up to her house when she didn't show up in the Square, and accost her there. Beauty had to force Father to command that they leave her alone because she was already betrothed. That seemed to work. When they realized that the ex-merchant's youngest daughter wasn't available, they joined the overwhelming crowd of Allegra and Aisling. Beauty sighed with relief as her courtship ended; she had her privacy and ideal tranquil countryside back.  
  
And at this time, while his daughters were being chased by half of the village, Father received a summons from the city. He had been a ship merchant back in the days in the city, but devastation after devastation came and ruined him. Over the years, his vessels had either sunk, vanished, or lost their cargo. His business was a hard one; many a days they would be filthy rich, but with their richness came sleepless nights of worry. With the blink of an eye, they were poor. No longer wealthy enough to stay in the city, that was when they had made their move to the countryside two years prior to the present. Suddenly he was being asked back. It seemed that a vessel he had thought drowned for three years had docked at the port.  
  
"Oh my girls," he cried happily at the unexpected news. "This could be it. A new beginning for us!"  
  
"To leave this farmland?" said Aisling, her eyes gleaming with tears. Images of the old life stirred in her mind. "Oh, if only we could! If only we could!" The happiness and hope broke through, and she began to cry.   
  
"Don't cry, my darling. That would be a dream come true," said Father, hugging his middle daughter.  
  
"I'm so glad for you," exclaimed Beauty. Her words held the exact truth in them. She was happy that her father's ship had come; she was overjoyed over anything that made her father's eyes shine. But the truth was that Beauty loved the country more than the city. Though she had lived only a year in the little town, she cherished her time spent there more than the seventeen years lived in the city. However, if Father's ships held enough riches to let them move back to the city, she would go with them. While she enjoyed her solitude, she could not stand being parted from her family; they were all the comfort and joy she needed around her.   
  
Father joined Aisling; tears trickled down the side of each leathery cheek. "I know you are," he replied. Allegra grabbed her father's hands and twirled in front of the open door, and the other two joined in the dancing, all the while listening to the invisible music of the happiness that dwelled in the human heart.   
  
"What shall I bring you from the city?" asked Father later that evening while planning his journey.  
  
"The city itself?" suggested Allegra. "The balls, the gowns, the sparkling jewels! Oh Father dear, we only want you to return home to us without a scratch on your skin and all the hairs still intact on your head." Father roared with laughter hearing her last words. He was getting on in age, and almost all the silver-streaked brown hairs had fallen from his head.  
  
"And you, Aisling?" he asked beaming.  
  
"A hero," she said, her eyes looking fondly at her father. "A daring adventurer."  
  
"Right, then. I shall have to bring home one of my more handsome captains." Aisling only smiled. It was well known that the commanders of Father's vessels had been as ugly as . . . well, as ugly as . . . it was too hard to find the perfect word. One might say that they were all blessed with features that were less than pleasing - which made them resemble apes.   
  
"Beauty, my darling, you've been quiet this evening." Father squinted at his youngest daughter. "Or have you too been worried about your old Father's safety, eh?" Father threw back his head and laughed again. "Don't worry girls. This old boy can still take care of himself! But really, Beauty. Come, tell me what you want, and I shall bring it to you."  
  
"My first concern is that you bring yourself home to us, but I should like a rose if you please, Father."  
  
"A rose?" teased Allegra. "Now who is becoming a romantic?"  
"I'm not," retorted Beauty defensively. "I haven't seen a rose in ages, and you remember how much I liked Agnes' garden back in the city." The other three nodded as they remembered their neighbor's rose garden. Father was the first to snap out of his reminiscence of the old days.  
  
"A rose it is. The city for Allegra, and an adventurer for Angel," he proclaimed. Then he yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "I must go to bed if I'm to be off to the city in the morning. Good night my darling daughters." He gave them each a quick peck on the forehead and left.  
  
Father left early the next morning with only the clothes on his back, enough food to last him a couple of days, a pouch of their hard-earned coins, and atop the back of Old Ro. They watched him as he and the horse left the gate and waved. They waved back. He disappeared from sight behind a mountain of trees, but the beating hooves of Old Ro could still be heard.   
  
"Dear Old Ro," murmured Beauty, sighing, as she recalled that the horse had put up a bigger struggle than usual when Father had tried to harness her. A worried look crossed her face, and she turned anxiously to her sisters. "You don't suppose that Ro could be an omen, do you?"  
  
Allegra put an arm around Beauty's shoulders, and Aisling leaned on her.   
  
"Don't be so silly."  
  
"You know that Ro's always stubborn. Today she was no different, and how can horses foreshadow events to come? All their minds are good for is eating hay and transporting people places. Father will be fine. The trip to the city is but a week. He'll be back in no time, you'll see."   
  
"I know he will," said Beauty. "But all the same, something's coming."  
  
1  
  
  
1  
  
  



	3. The Arrival

Chapter Three: The Arrival  
  
  
It was a dark night when the first human in nineteen years entered the castle. Besides being dark, the night was wild. The fierce winds howled louder than the wood wolves, and sleet hailed down from the turbulent clouds, chilling everything it touched. But, those who dwelled within the castle did not stir. They stayed warm and dry, restless as always. The Beast stalked in his chamber, particularly annoyed that his afternoon hunt had come to a halt when the cold trickle of sprinkling rain pattered down on his head. Every now and then, he would glance up at the window, only to find the rain pounding harder than ever, and the black clouds rolling with thunder. He pursed his lips, scrunched his nose, and scowled at his faint reflection in the window glass.  
  
It was not surprising that it had stormed; rain and sleet seemed to always beat down upon the castle. There hadn't been a single glimmer of sun for nearly two decades, and it seemed that there wasn't ever going to be any. Ever since the wretched witch woman cursed him, all joy had vanished from every corner of the castle. Almost all joy, the Beast reminded himself. There were only two loves in his life, (both that he had enjoyed as a human) one being hunting. And as the Beast, that passion had not stopped. At least the woman had not banished the animals from the forest. It was a miracle the creatures continued to dwell there, in lands that lacked both light and warmth. It occurred to him that maybe the lands weren't so dismal; it might be his presence that made it so. He dismissed the thought quickly; he wasn't one to turn thoughtful and ponder over obscurities. All that mattered was having animals to chase after. It was hard to catch the fleeing deer (or smaller animals), it was even harder to be restricted by . . . certain limitations. In his first years, he had forgotten that the witch woman had passed some curse on the woods surrounding his castle, but he discovered quickly. He found he could only go as far as less than halfway through the woods before he felt the magical pull of the curse. It was as if an invisible chain was around his neck that stopped him from wandering deeper. The first time he had learned of the limitation, he had sulked for ages. He had tried to bumble through the grass at top speed, trying to overcome the barrier. It never worked. He would be awkwardly running when his neck would suddenly jolt backward. His feet would fly out in front of him, and he would land on his back. He gave up after a couple of years. No matter how much he tried, his efforts could never overwhelm the powerful leash of magic. Therefore, the Beast contented himself to just hunt in the outer parts of the woods. The game was scarce there - but he was happy to have the thrill of the stalking and the chase. After a kill, he would tear into the meat with his claws and eat it raw. And when he brought the carcass to his room for pleasurable eating, his attendants would only rustle. Sirena, another of the sylphs, would often cluck her tongue by making a whooshing noise and say, "You do not have to kill and eat like a beast even if you look like one." He would only snort in response, and continue digging into the bloody meat, exaggerating his wolfish noises.   
  
Then on the days that he didn't catch any prey, he would trudge back to the castle with his stomach grumbling irritably. The sylphs would make him soup or roast venison, but he tried to rely less on the sylphs and catch his own meals. Even though the sylphs were loyal to him, he always remembered with uneasiness that they were the witch woman's creatures. And that wariness would not leave no matter how much devotion the sylphs showed him.  
  
~  
And so, on that very dark and stormy night while the Beast pouted alone in his room, a man, drenched to the bone, shoved his way through hedge and wood to the tall iron gates of the castle.   
  
~  
The Beast stood hovering over the desk, his large paws fumbling with the pages of the book. The candle wax dripped on a page, making him curse, but the page bore no mark. As he had noted several times, it was indeed magical property. He slid a piece of paper to mark his place and closed the book gently. It had become a habit to read the magic book a little each week, looking for new clues. Ever since, last week's 'Someone's coming' notice, he didn't know what to expect. He remembered today's section well. The results used to be right in front of his nose. The broken chairs. The ripped mattresses and etc . . . Oh yes. He could recall that night as if it were yesterday . . .   
  
~  
The first thing the Beast did after his transformation was to break all the mirrors in his castle. As a human, his main pride had been his perfect features. He could stand before the full-length mirrors for hours upon hours, preening like a peacock and admiring his beauty. But now, his physical appearance had been drastically altered, and he no longer cared for the looking glasses. As every mirror would shatter at the sight of his monstrosity, he could not see what he looked like. But with his hands, he felt his face. The pads of his paws touched coarse facial fur. Fur. Animal. Beast. He shuddered and snarled, forcefully yanking out a good chunk of fur. It stung, causing him to rear back his head and howl with pain. He howled and moaned and groaned. Intense anger bubbled up inside him like a volcano and burst, erupting with red-hot lava that shot out in all directions. He jumped down from his old bed, landing on all four paws. Growling for all he was worth, he swiped at wooden chairs, smashed the writing desk, tore through the curtains, ripped the mattress, severed a thin pillar, and destroyed a good many other things. He stopped, his heart beating loudly, his teeth clenched, his fur disheveled. He surveyed the mess he had made. His castle bedroom no longer looked fit for a king; it was a sty, only fit for housing nothing but junk. Nothing but junk and rubbish . . . and a beast. He stalked back around the confusion he had made, and sat on the ripped mattress. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. One day, he had everything. The next day, he had nothing. Frustrated, he pounded a clenched fist on the mattress, his beating causing the mattress feathers to fly . . .  
  
~  
Of course his sylphs had repaired the damage done as swiftly as they could with their air magic. He was pretty harmless as a Beast. The most damage he could do was killing a deer (the largest animal out back), and the sylphs would not be able to do anything about it. The sylphs, though their magic was very, very powerful, did not have the power nor the right to bring the dead back to life.   
  
A cold touch of air tickled his scalp. The sylph was back. He turned around and recognized her. "Sibyl . . ."  
  
She ignored his warning look. "Someone's coming . . ." she murmured dreamily. "Coming . . . coming . . . coming . . . he's here."  
  
In an instant, the Beast crouched down onto four paws and would have sprung down the stairs in fury, if it weren't for the "Wait . . ." that came out of the sylph's white mouth. Sibyl giggled and sighed, floating all around. "Do not be overzealous about his entering. Wait and see. See what the storm brings you? A man. I see an old man weary from his journey, and blistered by the storm. I told you someone was coming. The book told you that too. But you did not believe. This is a chance, a chance to make a choice to help with your redemption."  
  
The Beast growled softly. "There is a human wandering around my castle, poking around in my property. I must be there to supervise . . . to make sure nothing gets touched, taken, stolen."  
  
"You will not go down there. You will frighten this man to death, and this chance will be forever gone."  
  
"But I need to watch!" shouted the Beast angrily.  
  
"That," said the sylph producing a crystal ball out of thin air, "can be arranged."   
  
The Beast cast his eyes on the images in the globe, eyes narrowed in apprehension.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. The Rose's Price

Transformation: A Retelling of Beauty and the Beast  
  
Author's Note: I haven't touched this story for so long because of my evil school. Now, it's winter vacation and since I'm so happy and relieved, I decided to work on this. I've always loved Beauty and the Beast . . . I could go on for hours about why I love the fairytale, but I better not take up more of your time. Please read and review!!! And enjoy!  
  
  
  
Chapter Four: The Rose's Price  
  
The merchant slid off Old Ro, his stiffened arms flailing, with a thump as he landed in a heap in the winter snow. The rose that he had held in his grasp flew out of his blue fingers and landed at Beauty's feet. She stared at it, fascinated. It was blood red, no, redder than blood, darker than blood . . . She came to her senses, still somewhat enraptured by the rose's spell. "Allegra! Aisling! It's father!" she cried. Her two sisters flew out the door, their cheeks pulsing with the red of excitement and fever.   
"Father!" gasped Allegra. They hurried into the light hail of snow to their father's aid. "Beauty!" Allegra called, "What are you staring at? Come and help us!"  
Beauty could not stop gazing at the rose. Blood roses. She had dreamed of them before. One last call of her name shook her out of her trance, and she rushed to help her sisters. The rose lay forgotten in the snow, but only for a moment. As they dragged their cold-ridden father out of his demise, Beauty reached down, scooped up the precious rose, cradled it in her arm, and walked into the warmth of their house.   
***  
They thought he would die. He lay on his bed, blistering from the immense cold. He could not stop shivering, even though they put him in the warmest clothes, and tried to rub feeling back into his hands. After a while, the merchant regained color in his cheek and hands, only to zonk out into sleep. They still thought he would die, seeing as he slept like the dead - no snores, no heavy breathing - just suspiciously peaceful sleep.   
It was a miracle when he woke up the next week. They hurried to his side, inquiring about his health, but all he could do was ask about the rose. "Do you have the rose?" Beauty nodded. "Do you like it?" She nodded once more. With her last nod, the merchant seemed to ease up, even attempted to smile. Then, it faded as weariness overtook his gaunt face. "What you asked of me was great, but what he asks in return is even greater." Beauty looked at Aisling and Allegra; they each shared the same troubled look.   
"Father, maybe you should rest some more," Beauty began, but the old man cut her off.  
"I've had enough of resting. I have been asleep, foolish, and I'm prepared to pay my due." He looked at each of them, who exchanged worried glances once more. "How long have I slept?"  
"One week," answered Aisling.  
Their father uttered a little choked cry. "One week?" Then, he muttered, more to himself than to his daughters, "I have but two days . . ."  
"Father," said Allegra, "has your illness addled your brain? What is happening? Why do you have two days? Why are you prepared to pay your due? And what," she looked pointedly at Beauty, "does Beauty's rose have to do with this?"  
"Ah my angels," he croaked sadly, "if only you knew my tale. If only you knew." They begged for his tale, cajoled it out of him, and in the end, he took a deep breath and began to speak.  
* * *  
The city had changed much since they had left it. The hopes that he had carried were cruelly dashed when he approached the waterfront to inquire about the letter and his ships. The wares that his ships carried were ruined from a tempest-tossed life at sea; a quarter of the crew had died in the storms that had beset the poor ships and half of the crew had either been killed or taken prisoner by rampaging pirates. He was turned away by people who were once his friends. They denied him shelter, recognition, friendship . . . He was all alone in a strange city plagued with superficiality. Once he had been wealthy, a part of the elite class. But now, when the aristocracy looked at him, him in his tattered breeches, matted gray hair, and dirty fingernails, they snubbed him. All they cared about was status and rank. They were devoid of feelings; their masks had become their real faces long ago, and it was too hard to welcome an old friend into their circle - too hard to regain the kindness that made them humans.  
Dejected and alone, the merchant began the long journey home, atop of Old Ro, carrying a small chest of money that selling the wares had made. Fortune did not smile upon him for that night as he journeyed into the woods; a band of brigands attacked him, swiping the small chest after knocking him down from his horse. Grief-stricken, he found that he had lost his way anyhow. There was nothing to do but get back on his horse and try to find shelter. He wandered for a long time without any luck. To add onto his misfortune, a storm that had been brewing for some time decided to pelt the forsaken earth. He was soaked and cold; his thread-bare coat could not keep him alive for long. The despair he felt made him want to die, but then, he thought of his daughters: laughing Allegra, dreamy Aisling, and Beauty. The thought of his daughters gave him strength, and spurred him on. When he died, he would die of old age in a warm bed, surrounded by fat grandchildren - not here, not all alone in hollow woods. An hour later, it seemed that Fortune had pitied him and decided to supply shelter. Before him was an enormous dark castle that rose out of the ground like a raging hellbeast. It's turrets seemed to be horns, and its dark windows seemed like gaping eyes and mouths, and as the wind howled harshly into his ear, he could hear the enraged cry of a hellbeast castle.   
Just as suddenly as his imagination overtook him, his logic side sprang forth and calmed his worst fears. It was but a castle, all right, granted it looked ominous, but it was shelter. Shelter - where it was dry and warm, alit with hot fires . . .  
The thought of a hot fire sank into his mind, and suddenly he was determined to enter the castle. He tied Old Ro to the iron gate, right under a large leafy tree. He started to open the gate, but then looked back at the horse in sympathy; she pawed at the muddy ground and whinnied in fear.   
"It's alright, old girl," he murmured. "That makes two of us. You'll be quite safe here, that tree will ward off the rain." Then he turned back around, squared his shoulders, pushed the iron gate open, and shuffled up the long winding path.  
***  
At this, the merchant stopped. He glanced at his daughters' apprehensive faces and sighed. "This tale does not end well, and as it is, I do not know how it ends - that is beyond my reach. But, oh, the castle was marvelous . . ."  
***   
The castle may have been foreboding on the exterior, but when the merchant prodded the great wooden doors open, he saw wonders that he had never seen before. Vases, portraits, rugs, murals, paintings - more extravagant, and surely more costly, than anything he owned - more so than a mere castle to hold. This castle must belong to a great lord, but where was his host?   
But the thought left his mind when he came upon the garden through one of the many doors of the great hall. It seemed the sky had changed its mood and now shone clear navy blue. The storm had ceased, and he cautiously picked his way around the flowers, so he would not trample their radiant beauty. They displayed an array of colors, so brilliant they near blinded him. But none so entranced him as the single stalk that grew among purple bluebells. It was red, redder than red, like the deep red of blood that joined him to his daughters, no, like the red of . . .   
He stooped and carefully nipped the rose near the dirt, and as soon as the rose came free in his hand, he heard a closing roar like thunder above his head, and the earth shook unstably. He stumbled to regain his balance, and the rose fell . . . at someone's feet. No, at the paws of a cat, but at ten times the size of a normal one. Sharp claws glistened as they retracted out of the paws. The merchant closed his eyes in fear, then raised his head to stare at the enormous presence of his host.  
His eyes never lifted high enough to stare his host in the eyes. They stopped at the chin; he saw the coarse brown fur of an animal, though strangely, the beast was dressed in the garb of a human . . .  
The monster was roaring, and the merchant sealed his ears, shaking in his undisguisable fear. He could not remember much; he was so bewildered at the presence of a monster, a beast who spoke with the words of a human, who dressed like a human, yet who was so uncivilized that he could not possibly be human.   
He nodded dumbly when the Beast named his price, but then realized what he had just agreed to.  
"Never," he cried, coming alive again. His ears, his tongue, and brain loosened themselves and were now actively working. "I would not - I would never part with my daughter. True, I took the rose for her, but it is my sin. Spare her, this is not her doing."  
"I won't kill her," the Beast snarled contemptuously. "But unless she comes here in nine days, I will come for you, and you won't receive any mercy from me. Begone, old man!"  
The merchant gladly started to scramble away, when the Beast's hideous voice called him back. "Will you forget the rose, old man? Take it and remember its price. Nine days!" The Beast had gone, but his gloating voice stung the merchant's ears. He clutched the blood rose so hard that a nonexistent thorn tore a gash in his palm, squeezing small droplets of blood, but he was so aghast by his newfound situation that he took no heed of his wounded hand. He stood there for minutes, and then, aware that precious time was ticking fast away, he ran through the wooden garden gate, out of the castle, ran down the gravel path, and to the front iron gate. As he hurriedly untied Old Ro, he glanced back at the castle shrouded by dark ominous clouds. It was not a hellbeast castle, but a castle that contained one.   
He jumped on Old Ro, and she ran, as if to keep the farthest distance away from the castle as possible. It was almost as if the Beast had enchanted them so that with each step Old Ro took, she covered the distance of twenty steps. He rode on through flailing branches and stout hedges, though fatigue threatened to overtake him; Old Ro did not stop until she had arrived at their little house, where the merchant collapsed from exhaustion, and the blood rose tumbled and landed at Beauty's feet.  
***   
Hours after her father finished telling his tale, Beauty fell asleep by the fire and dreamed. Images blurred in her mind, but still the blood rose remained clear throughout the dream. Voices mingled: Carol's plump face floated into view: "You were such a beautiful baby, so golden. Your mother, blessed woman she was, had a strange fit when she looked at your eyes. Still so perplexing each time I think about it. She yelled about some nonsense about a beast and a spell . . .", this time her father's voice resounded, "What you asked of me was great, but what he asks of me is greater . . ." - all this mingled with the sweet voices of Allegra and Aisling, and yet when she woke up, shivering in the dark, the voices and images were gone, save for the single blood rose. The fire had died out, and she got up to kindle the flames. Aisling had put the rose in a glass vase, and Beauty turned around after lighting the fire, only to be caught in the rose's spell once more. She stared at it, unseeing of everything else, and when morning came, Allegra found her there, still staring at the beautiful but ill flower, the cause of so much trouble.   
"You're going?" asked Allegra gently. Beauty didn't answer; she just nodded courageously. Of all the girls, she was the most sensible, and yet here came a time when all sensibility was erased - a beast who spoke the words of a man, a castle enchanted, and a rose, a blood rose whose petals refused to fall. Words failed her, and her nod stopped midway. She had always disliked crying, but there was nothing left for her to do but cry. She sobbed on Allegra's shoulder, crying as she had never cried, murmuring her fears - of the Beast, of her unusual naming, of her leaving.   
***  
It had always been the three of them: Beauty, Allegra, and Aisling. They shared the same womb; they were bonded by blood, and now, she was leaving. Her two sisters did not fuss, but accept her coming departure quietly; inside, she knew there was no doubt that they all felt the same foreboding at heart. The merchant was another story. He made a big fuss when Beauty announced her decision, but he could not override her will.   
"I always said you were more stubborn than Old Ro," he said, giving up. "Oh, my Beauty, there is no need to be courageous or heroic. This is a monster, a true beast - it is my mess - I'm the one who picked the rose, there is no need for you to go. I will go in your stead. I have had a long life - what is a few more years of living worth to me?  
"You picked the rose, Father," Beauty began, "but I asked for it. If I had not asked, you would not have picked, and this whole thing wouldn't have started. The fault rests with me. If you do not allow me to go, I will go all the same, but I'd rather leave with your blessing and love, than without it."  
She saddled up Old Ro when Aisling burst out of the door, crying. "Beauty, little sister. I can't give you much, but like Allegra, I can give you my namesake. I give you dreams to comfort you, to allow your mind to expand. Dreams and hope - hope that you will return to us safely. That way, you'll have a part of me inside you." She kissed Beauty's cheek, and stood there next to their father, looking tearful but resigned.   
Allegra came out of the house, clutching a small heart pillow. "Aisling and I made it," she told Beauty. "We filled it with dried lavender petals, and sprinkled some rose perfume on it. It will soothe you in your time of deepest need. We hope you will think of us, often. I know I have given you my namesake already - laughter, happiness, joy - but you have never needed it. You have always had us under your skin, just like I have you and Aisling under mine. No matter what becomes of you, you'll always be here with us, at home."  
Beauty was close to crying. There was nothing like leaving home that made the tears start to run. "I'm not going to my death, you know," she said, trying to smile. No one answered her. They stared at her solemnly and tearfully. She knew that all of them silently responded to her statement. She knew that she had spoken their deepest fear aloud, for it was her fear too, and hadn't Allegra said that they knew each other's thoughts?  
Afraid that she would weep and be unable to fulfill her duty, she swung onto Old Ro, who broke into a canter, bringing Beauty farther away from their little house, farther away from Allegra, Aisling, and their father, farther into the uncertainty that lay before her. She could hear Aisling sobbing, and then she could hear no more; she and Old Ro were into the woods and her past was behind her, shrouded by the thicket. 


	5. Preparation

Transformation: A Retelling of Beauty and the Beast  
  
Author's Note: It seems that during this wonderful vacation, my writing juices are flowing once more. More praise to whoever designated winter break!  
Now, onto the story. When you read this chapter, if the Beast seems to be changing his mind about his thoughts, a lot, don't worry, it's intentional. The Beast is just like me, we have mood swings! Okay, I won't take anymore of your time by rambling. Please continue to read this, and remember to review!!!   
  
Chapter Five: Preparation  
  
After all these years - after all these years! - the spell had a chance of being broken. The Beast could hardly believe it himself. What could have possessed him to persuade the merchant to give up his daughter? What could have possibly possessed him to shower mercy on the merchant and still allow him to leave with the rose? There was magic at work, that much he was certain of. In the olden days, he had never granted mercy. If someone had stolen one of his precious roses (they were his second love in life), he would have snapped his fingers, his loyal guards would have brought the sniveling thief to the amputation chamber, and chopped off the worthless scum's right hand - to ensure that he never stole again - and popped out his right eye - to ensure that he never looked twice at an object again. In the olden days, he was king, he bowed down to no one, and everyone to him!  
  
But then the Beast's tail drooped. He wasn't a king, he was hardly human. Most of the time, he never gave a thought about the glory days of his past because they were too painful to look back upon. He had so much power - and now all his power was shattered by his unfortunate disfiguring. He curled his lip into a sneer.   
  
She hadn't gotten the best of him. Sometimes, he thought that the old woman had done him a favor by transfiguring him into a beast. In this form, he was free to act as his nature intended him to. He had no remorse, no second thoughts when his jaws ripped into his prey's flesh. In a way, he reflected, being a king was a subtly disguised cage. Sure being king meant power and glory, but still, all those people he was expected to be accounted for, all those taxes . . . all those head aching decisions . . . he was glad to be free of them. What a turn in his thought process! In all his nineteen years of being imprisoned in this bulky body, he had never imagined being a little grateful for it.  
  
Then he remembered his request, his demand. A girl? He hadn't been around girls for so long. His passion had always laid in hunting and finding beauty in inanimate objects. Girls were . . . different. He never thought about them, them with their nose-watering perfume and high-pitched giggles and hideous fashions. But this girl, the merchant's daughter would be different. From the way her babbling father had described her, she broke his low expectations of women. She seemed sweet and gentle, kind and considerate. The type of person he had never been. But perhaps the type of person who would feel moved to consent to marry a poor, pathetic Beast . . . .   
  
Never, he would not stoop that low. He would present himself as he was. Let her decide. If she married him, he'd turn fully human, and the illusion would be broken. (Even now, he saw his human hands only to feel the rough fur of an animal - and he missed feeling skin, his perfectly manicured smooth hands of old.) If she didn't, well, that meant he had more time to hunt and do as he pleased.   
  
The Beast was satisfied with his solution. Let the girl - what did the merchant say her name was - Beauty, yes, of course, Beauty - let her come.   
  
The sylphs refused to agree with his decision. They wanted him to expand on it, saying, "She can't just come to the castle as it is, it needs some house cleaning!" It was a preposterous thing, but they actually wanted the castle to be cleaned. His lair, clean and shining? He understood that they wanted to give the poor girl a warm welcome, designate and decorate a room for her, but clean his room, what for?   
  
Sirena was patient with him for once. "Do you know why the sun has never shone through the clouds, not once since you were made a beast?"  
  
The Beast thought for a moment, "Because the witch enchanted it?"  
  
"Yes, but also because this place is so dreary. Sunshine and happiness doesn't dwell in murky places like this." She smiled here, blowing frosty air on his cheek. "Do you know what would happen to you if the sun did shine here, and you were caught under its glare?"  
  
"I would die."  
  
Sirena smiled again, "Yes, you would. No, you wouldn't melt and fully combust. You would turn to stone. And I suppose that is a sort of death. A living death. It is a good thing that the sun doesn't shine here. Enchanted Beasts are not made to be happy. They are enchanted so they will learn happiness, thus causing the sun to shine."  
  
"Then I would die."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I don't follow your logic."  
  
"My mistress has wonderful ways of complicating enchantments," she said dreamily. "But you will figure all of that out by yourself. I have no doubt that this arrival, the arrival of your Beauty, will bring the sun . . . and maybe the witch."  
  
"Why should she come?" he asked. "She has never come before, and I'm not sure I would want her to come. I won't harm the girl, I promised the old man, and besides, I'll be avoiding her as much as possible."  
  
"Because of the sun?"  
  
"Why shouldn't I be afraid of something that will turn me to stone?" Then, he muttered, "She'll break the spell. Maybe."  
  
At this, Sirena stared at him - he could feel her icy eyes penetrate his heart, trying to comprehend what he had just said. Finally she said, "You don't want to break the illusion; you don't want to become human again?"  
  
"I'm afraid, a little bit," he answered testily. "There's no need to alert the others. I would be glad to be a man again, but being a Beast has its good moments."  
  
"Like tearing into a deer carcass?" she asked dryly. He didn't answer. Then she laughed softly, blowing more cold air onto his cheek. "Dear boy, are you afraid of the requirements for breaking the enchantment?" She began to quote the old witch: "'It shall be undone when you learn pity and heart-wrenching sorrow; when you learn compassion and true love. But that's not all. If you love, your love must be returned. And this must be true love, where sacrifices will be made.' You're afraid of this? You, who have never loved anyone but yourself. I understand your fear, and yet I am amused because many a man would scoff at the simplicity of these conditions. But do you think that the witch left us, her servants, behind for nothing? We will help you, help you find your humanity, win the girl, break the spell, and live happily ever after as all people should."  
  
The Beast was pleased. He let his pleasure show, saying, "I've always loved you better than all the other sylphs for a reason."  
  
Sirena smiled, and put an airy hand on his shoulder. "Not loved. You toss that word around and yet it has no meaning. But it will. Soon, you will understand what love truly is. This girl - the sylphs and I have high hopes for her - I hope she is as promised." With that, she swept out of the room, leaving a trail of cold mist and the Beast staring at her, wondering at what was to come.   
***  
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Nine days he had told the merchant. Nine days for the girl to show up at his castle. Well, the ninth day had finally arrived, and what a blessing it was, he thought sarcastically. The sylphs had been very irritable that morning, squabbling over what adorned the girl's bedroom, what color the plate of her door would be, who would serve dinner, who would serve the girl . . . . At first the Beast felt it was his duty to be a little bit helpful - a feeling he had never had before (He still felt that the old witch must have been tampering with his mind and heart somehow.) - and tried to give aid, but Selene, another sylph, snapped at him and told him to go out and hunt. Sirena patted him awkwardly on the head and said, "Please do as she says."  
  
That was how he ended up wandering through the woods. They had always provided great comfort to him, especially in the olden days when he had to work off his rage by stalking little creatures in their enormous shade. Today, he was restless, he didn't seem to know what to do with himself, more because he was worried. At sunset, the girl, Beauty, would arrive on top of her family's ugly old steed and raise the sun. No. He laughed at himself for thinking such. She could not have the power to raise the sun after it had set. No, she could not . . . unless she was a witch. A witch.   
  
He shivered instinctively, and to shrug off his sudden apprehension, he decided to kill something after all.   
***  
The sun had set, and the Beast was in a good mood. His brain was fairly sluggish after chewing the tender meat of a fawn, but he was not so inebriated with rich meat that his reflexes were gone. There was a sudden flash of bright light behind the leafy hedges up front. Something moving. Something whose scent was enticing. Cautiously, he inched forward, one paw after the other. He heard it move - graceful - probably another deer - he heard the sound of feet denting the soft mossy ground, and then it stopped. The Beast was a hunter, always a hunter, and he knew he had the animal trapped. The animal had stopped, and he licked his lips in anticipation. The young fawn hadn't been enough to satisfy his appetite, his blood lust. He burst through the hedges with his signature snarl - heard the animal, who was not an animal, scream girlishly - and landed, pinning her down with his paws.  
  
The girl. The merchant's daughter. Here, the ninth day, after sunset. He had forgotten all about her. As he stared at the second human being he had seen in nineteen years, he had a feeling that falling in love with her would not be as hard as he had expected. She was beautiful, more beautiful than any girl he had ever seen. Hair that shone so gold it was almost silver, skin so pale it glowed, and somehow, he knew that her eyes would be amber to fit her glowing goddess image. She couldn't be ordinary. A witch? Most definitely. He carefully assessed her, taking in the fact that just by looking at her made him feel light-headed and giddy. Maybe eating the fawn wasn't such a good idea after all - he seemed to be getting nauseous.  
  
He couldn't just leave her there. The sylphs would be terribly upset at him, and even though he tried not to depend or need other beings, their anger would be deeply felt. They were his only companions, and he liked to talk to them, even Sibyl with her dramatic, dreamy air. Of course, the sylphs would be angry with him anyway because he had pounced on the girl. He could protest that he had taken her for a deer, but they wouldn't listen. He sighed. Already the girl was bringing trouble. First the sylphs would be upset with him because of her, and then she would make the sun rise and he would turn to stone.   
  
He gathered her in his arms, plucking her off the ground like a flower, and started for the castle. He glanced at her often during the walk up, and once, she had stirred in his arms. He had almost dropped her, for fear she would wake up and start screaming again, but she did not wake up, and he did not drop her.   
  
The Beast made his way to the castle's great hall, and realized with a jerk that all the sylphs had swooped in silently, and were presently glaring at him. Without a word, the sylphs snatched the girl from his arms and floated up the stairs, all except for Sirena. She looked at him, disapprovingly, which he read as So-Much-For-First-Impressions.   
  
He wanted to shrivel up under her look.   
  
She left and suddenly he felt quite alone, standing in the great hall, staring at his illusioned feet, at the mosaic tiles that patterned the floor. A wave of hot fury swept over him. Why should a girl make so much trouble for him? He would bother with her no more. He had had enough of witches! . . . even if this one happened to be very, very beautiful. Again, his stomach lurched as he thought of the glowing girl, Beauty, the merchant's daughter. Before anyone could demand his presence, he bounded out of the great hall, through one of the many doors, and out into the woods again. His stomach reeled once more. He was going to be sick - very, very sick. He was never ever going to eat fawns again; it was better to stick to the tougher flesh of the does and stags. He sat there, beside the hedges, and waited for the vomit to come. He waited . . . and waited . . . and waited . . . and waited . . . .   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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	6. Inside the Castle

Transformation: Chapter Six: Inside the Castle  
By Calcifersgrl  
  
Author's Note:   
I'm sorry for not updating for so long. I've been busy, and I've found that my story has sunk to the back pages of the fairy tale section. Since it's spring break for me, I decided to update it. Please read and review, if you like it, say so, and maybe I'll keep on writing this story.   
Many of my reviews have noted the similarity between Robin McKinley's books and this story. I just want to say that her story is hers, and my story is mine. I suppose I've been influenced by Beauty because I made the sisters nice to each other. I never liked how the older sisters were so mean to Beauty.   
Anyway, thanks for the reviews, keep them coming!  
Okay, enough rambling, here's chapter six!  
  
***  
  
Chapter Six: Inside the Castle  
  
When Beauty had seen the large animal leap out of the bushes, snarling ferociously, she had screamed. But contrary to his belief, she had not fainted. Rather, she had lain still, praying for all she was worth that she wouldn't be eaten. She could feel its eyes stare at her, assessing her, most likely deciding how it would eat her. And then, it had picked her up, as if she weighed no more than a feather. In his arms, she had been even more afraid, feeling the pressure of wide, furry paws on her back - paws that contained sharp, pointed claws - and soft velvet rubbing against her cheek. Daring to peek, she opened one eye slowly, one eye that took in the velvet suit the animal was wearing, one eye that saw that the animal who carried her was walking like a man . . . She stirred, rolling over in his arms - and that had been a mistake. His arms lessened around her, and for an instant, she thought he was going to drop her. She stopped moving. He regained his grip, even tighter than before, and carried her to the castle with haste.   
  
She curbed her curiosity when she felt an exchange of arms. These new arms that gripped her were light and airy, certainly not the flesh arms of a human. She heard the Beast - for surely he that carried her was the Beast her father had spoken of - bound out of the great room, slamming the great door behind him, and opened her eyes.   
  
She was alone, and what she saw caused her to gasp in delight. She had left her family expecting a cell in a dark, dreary dungeon with only straw for a bed. But this, this room made her head spin and giddy with the richness of the mahogany scented wood, the intricacy of the carvings. She let out her breath; she had sucked it in without realizing it. The bed she lay upon was very soft and expensive; the thick red coverlets and pillow stuffed with the finest goose feathers money could buy. The dark walls had carved black roses climbing up, stretching for the center of the ceiling where the true masterpiece lay. Multicolored roses, dozens and dozens of her beloved roses, painted across the ceiling, caught in such a way Beauty could almost believe they were real. She breathed in the sweet perfume of roses, still marveling at the magnificence of her cell.   
  
Her cell.  
  
In truth, no matter how marvelous the room, it was a cell, a dungeon of a sort. A cage. She clenched her fists tight, bit her lip, and shut her eyes. If she tried hard enough, she could almost see her family: Bold Allegra, Sweet Aisling, and Father. She recalled their parting: "You have always had us under your skin, just like I have you and Aisling under mine. No matter what becomes of you, you'll always be here with us, at home," Allegra had said. Oh, if only it were true. If only she could erase the sickness in the heart that threatened to drown her with tears. If only she could accept her fate with grace. Stop the rising fear, stop crying over spilled milk. What was done was done. She had exchanged places with her father, saving his, but dooming her own.   
  
In an attempt to quell her apprehension, she thought of the Beast, an unnatural animal, something nature could not be proud to call her own creation. She thought of how he had sprung out of the bushes. She had frozen, wondering whether this was how the Beast prepared to have his meals made, slaughtered. The Beast flew through the air: golden brown fur, darkening at the tips of his pointed ears, a strange concoction of lupine, feline, and something else she didn't recognize until she looked into his strangely human eyes, the blue pupils wide with dismay. Human, she had thought at last, before she had been knocked backward by the force of his strength.   
  
He couldn't possibly want her for a meal. He had had his chance when he had pinned her down, unconscious to his knowledge. He could have left her there on the forest ground, but instead, he had carried her to his castle. Her curiosity was growing. All she could think was "Why?" Why did he carry her to his castle? Why didn't he eat her? Why did he walk like a man? Why did he have human eyes? She couldn't keep her curiosity in check. She wanted to know. Now was as good as any other time to start. She did have forever to ferret the truth out, or until the Beast did otherwise with her. Strange as it seemed, she craved company. She had been feeling far too alone as she and Old Ro wandered through the forest. There had to be other people in the large castle, other people who maintained it - the people who had brought her to the room. . . Maybe they could give a little background to the strange Beast. Or maybe she could look for the Beast herself. She got off the bed, and whispered whimsically to herself, "I'm going Beast-hunting."  
  
Beauty laughed. She turned to the full-length mirror, and smiled at her reflection. Sun-ripened wheat hair flowed over her shoulders, golden eyes set in a porcelain face glimmered back at her, as she wondered at her own boldness. It was as if she had completely transformed from her usual shy self into . . . well, like Allegra. Searching for the Beast was something that Allegra would do - bold and slightly saucy Allegra, finding joy even in such a situation.   
  
Out of the blue, a favorite adage of Beauty's father popped into her head: curiosity killed the cat. He was always admonishing her for being so curious: "Beauty, don't forget what happened to the cat." A tear tried to squeeze out of her eye at the thought of her father, but she stubbornly held it in. She had always replied to his warning: "I can be curious and sensible." In return, he had told her that sensibility, stubbornness, and curiosity were not good qualities to have in one person. "Maybe if they were separate," he had explained to her, "it would not be so alarming. When a person is all three, the qualities cannot balance themselves out. A sensible person will not heed when her stubbornness drives her. A sensible person will find it hard to be sensible when her curiosity is pulling at her."  
  
She had a slight suspicion that looking for the Beast was not a sensible thing to be doing, and that it was solely her curiosity propelling her forward. But she couldn't stop now, Allegra's gift had only enhanced Beauty's curious trait.   
  
"Beauty, don't forget what happened to the cat," she half-whispered to herself, still staring at her image.   
  
It was killed.   
  
***  
  
  
She was drawn to the Beast's Lair, long before she even knew what it was. It was at the end of the third corridor, shrouded in darkness, giving off ominous vibes. She had first seen it as she passed through the second corridor, chancing to look up and see darkness emanating from one particular corner. It drew her with its power, just as the blood red rose of so long ago had drawn her. She couldn't keep her eyes, her mind off it. It stirred forgotten memories, memories that she didn't even know she had.   
  
She had been down such a corridor, into a darkened room, with her mother. But how could that be, when it was a fact that her mother had died right after she and her sisters were born? Still, her memories insisted that her mother had held her hand as they walked, the sound of her shoes tapping in rhythm to the beats of her wildly pounding heart. "Don't be afraid, my Beauty," her mother had whispered. "I'm only trying to show you your destiny." She had been so afraid, sticking the thumb of her free hand in her mouth and sucking it nervously. They had paused as they reached the large ominous door that rose up in front of Beauty like a dark dead end. A sense of hopelessness, an air of despair seemed to come from behind the door. Her mother extended one golden hand and twisted the gnarled knob. With a delicate push, the door creaked open, and Beauty hid her face behind her mother's skirts, as the source of all that gloom was located.   
  
A figure was crouched on the tattered bedspread, blending in with the shadows that the slice of moonlight created. Beauty's mother stopped, and took the little girl by the arm, and planted Beauty firmly in front of herself. "Do you see that, darling? Do you see what you have to do? This is your destiny, this is what I need you to do - I need you to correct my mistake, and let all be well again." The little girl nodded dumbly, her eyes still transfixed on the shaking figure. She felt her mother's arm drop from its protective spot across her shoulders, as her mother leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Mama has to go now. Be a good girl when I'm gone. One day, I'm going to come back, and everything is going to be fine . . . ." Mama was gone now, Beauty thought as a feeling of hysteria started to come over her. The weeping bulky shadow stopped weeping enough to peer out from under its large shoulder. She remembered seeing two fierce eyes glaring out at her; it was too dark to decipher the color of the pupils. And then it snarled, like a wild beast, a caged animal, and then she only recalled screaming, eyes wide open with fear.   
  
Beauty shrugged off the memories; it turned out that she had been dreaming at the time, and both Allegra and Father had to comfort her before her strangled sobs turned into tired sleep. Aisling had slept through her fit, no doubt, dreaming of something sweet. But it was strange, that that memory, which she had suppressed for so long, would shoulder itself past her other thoughts and sit like a heavy weight at the front of her mind.  
  
She stood before the large door. It wasn't the same as the one in her dream; here, the door was smaller, not quite radiating absolute hopelessness. Of course, she had grown up. She only hesitated slightly before turning the gnarled knob, wondering whether she would see the same hulk in the shadows, whether her dream of long ago was some sort of prophecy for the future.  
  
The room was empty, and deprived of the tatters and debris she had been expecting. It wasn't a clean room, but then again, it wasn't as if a vicious beast had been let loose in it. Some of the worry she had been feeling earlier disappeared; surely a Beast who kept a rather acceptably clean room would not be something to be frightened of. In her mind, she ticked off a couple things that she had learned about the Beast. One, he wasn't going to eat her. Two, he walked like a man. Three, he had blue eyes that solely could have belonged to a human. Four, he wasn't too dirty. All in all, she concluded that he seemed like a decent captor. Her father had made him seem like the unholy terror, a villain that had stepped straight out of a nightmare, but in truth, he had stolen the rose from the Beast. Maybe the Beast was just overly protective of his flowers; maybe that was all there was too the mysterious Beast.  
  
Nearest to the window stood a small wooden table, where a dusty leather book sat, looking read and used. It interested her, like the room had pulled her with a magnetic attraction, like the enchanted rose had drawn her. She reached her right hand out slowly to brush away the years of grime, when something else happened instead.   
  
A white light spread from the book's cover, etching the white outline of an apparition, a woman that Beauty knew only too well, a woman from her dreams that had held her hand and told her to be a good girl. She looked decidedly solid against the black backdrop. Beauty recognized some elements of the woman's face in her, Allegra, and Aisling's own.   
  
Her tongue tried to utter the woman's name, but it stumbled over the word that it had never uttered before. "Ma - Mother," she whispered, finally, gazing at her the apparition with a mix of wonder and undecipherable emotions. Her eyes moistened as she stared at the mother she had never known. "How - you said you were coming back, that I was to see you again," she shook her head, "is that really you? Are you real or are you a ghost? Am I seeing things? What is going on?" she spat out in unconcealed confusion. Some of the years' constrained bitterness also managed to leak out.  
  
The door behind her burst open, and someone hurtled in, growling, but she took no notice. Her mother's white figure looked alarmed and vanished, leaving no smoke or any sign that she had been there. Beauty was left staring at the dark velvet curtains. She turned around, slowly, shuffling her feet as she turned. She was too shocked, too fatigued to even think about being afraid of the Beast, for it was he who had hurtled through the door and snarled, and stood before her, rearing up to his full height of nearly seven feet.  
  
She lifted her head up wearily, and directed troubled eyes at the surprised blue eyes of the Beast. Now that she saw him in full, she supposed she would have been frightened if there weren't other matters clouding her judgement. Instead, she paused and asked in a colorless voice, more to herself than to him, "Was that my mother, or am I seeing what I wish I would see?" He didn't respond; his eyes were still bulging from the shock she had submitted him to. She brushed by him without saying another word, opened the door, and walked out, leaving the Beast to deal with his own thoughts.   
  
  
***  
  
Another Author's Note: I know it's a little short, but seriously, tell me what works and what doesn't work. It may take time for chapter seven to be up, so bear with me. = ) Don't forget to review! I adore reviews. 


	7. The Girl

Transformation: Beauty and the Beast Retold  
  
Chapter 7: The Girl  
  
Author's Note: I haven't updated for the longest time. But here is Chapter 7. Please do read and review.   
  
  
He was wary of the girl. She of the light eyes and even lighter hair. She, who was the daughter of the witch woman who cursed him. True, he had learned to be wary when he saw Anessa's spirit sketched against his curtains, clearly conjured, and even more so when he discovered that not only did Beauty have witch blood in her, she was the daughter of his enchanter. But what troubled him most was the sequential shock. She had . . . looked at him, he thought in wonder. She had turned her eyes to his, amber to blue. Eyes were the most powerful accessory of the body; they gave one a view into another's soul. Only figuratively speaking. He hadn't seen into her soul, nor she into his, but that brief moment of eye contact established communication, a look of recognition . . . human recognition. He felt a chilled feeling of thrill rush up his spine and course into his head. He shook his head to clear the wooziness, spraying his tangled mane over his shoulders. For nineteen years, he had been treated like an animal; treated decently enough, but never like a human (not like he deserved to be treated so). And in one fell swoop, reality turned upside down for him. Figuratively, again.   
  
He tried to avoid her, preferring to spend most of his time locked up in his lair, with the curtains drawn, and with only a candle to illuminate the room. He tried to be in the one place where she would not be. Not that he would ever succeed; she had already occupied his room when she summoned her mother. It was apparent that in the few days she had arrived to his castle, she had filled the place with her. It was such a strange concept that he could not grasp at first. But it seemed that her essence was in the ballroom, the throne room, the kitchen, the rose garden, all of the other smaller room, and even his forest. He could not even go out into his beloved forest to quell the fear rising in his stomach with some freshly slaughtered carcass. He could smell her there. He had always had a keen nose, but the smell of her was so strong, he could actually envision her there, her hair, her eyes, her porcelain face, her laugh . . .   
  
Why was she enjoying his lands so much, he wondered with a groan. Why should she move to make his home her home so quickly? He had been hoping that the girl would confine herself to her room and refuse to have anything to do with him since he had issued a death warrant to her father. He had been hoping that the girl, Beauty, would not turn out to be anything like the sylphs expected. His hopes, in short, were dashed; the sylphs adored her. They always made sure that her needs were taken care of. And even when they were, they hung around her, like floating lap-dogs with their floppy red tongues hanging out, their sole goal to please. It almost seemed as if she were their mistress, instead of he as their master . . .  
  
Indeed she was, he reminded himself. The sylphs' true mistress was her mother, therefore Beauty was the second mistress in the ladder hierarchy. And he – he was some beastly charge that they were to look after. He sighed. He loved being moody, but he found that brooding did not content him when nobody cared whether he sulked in the shadows or not.  
  
The Beast found Beauty in his rose garden that afternoon. Already, he noticed, the sky was not as gray and gloomy as it had always been. Instead, the sky was flecked, speckled like a robin's egg with bits of gray and misty white. If he had not been so dense, he would have had the sense to back away from the gate. Who else in the castle could change the dark atmosphere? He spied her as he pushed the twisted, black iron gate open, but it was too late to reverse and avoid her. She had been admiring some of his loftier white rose bushes when she heard the noise and looked over her shoulder. She started, a bit unnerved. He forgave her. He hadn't seen her for a week, either, and the sight of her unnerved him a bit too.   
  
"My Lord," she whispered as she lowered herself in a formal curtsey.   
  
He found himself almost grinning. If he had been human, she would know to call him "Your Majesty." He dismissed the thought - it was not good to dwell in the past - and grunted. "Please – just call me Beast."  
  
She obliged him and said, "My Beast then." She straightened and dusted imaginary greenery off her rose silk dress. She seemed hesitant to speak to him, much more unsure of herself than at their first unexpected encounter. She fiddled with something in her hands behind her back, her head lowered. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to abate the maladroitness of the whole situation, but nothing came to mind, and the Beast turned to go. Silence was nice, but her presence made it awkward, and he could never abide with awkward silences.   
  
"Your – your roses are beautiful," she blurted out at last to his turned back. He froze for a second, his ears slicking down against his skull. He imagined the responses that he would ease off his tongue with grace: a simple "Thank you. I grow them myself." or an apology "I'm sorry about demanding you in payment for the rose" . . .   
  
It seemed ages before he spoke again, and what did tumble unexpectedly out of his mouth startled even him. "Your mother maintains them for me."  
  
She eyed him carefully. "M-my mother? Good Beast, what do you know of my mother?" She looked so bewildered; he could see the unlimited questions scrawled over her face, projected by shining eyes, eager for information. She seemed to have forgotten last week's incident. Had she really forgotten seeing her mother's projection? Was she ignorant of her mother's unfortunate curse? How much did she really know about that unfortunate affair?  
  
He was relieved out of not answering yet, as she stumbled on, saying, "My mother died giving birth to my sisters and I. My father never mentions her; he doesn't want to stir up old memories and ghosts . . ."  
  
Anything else she said slipped right passed him. He stopped listening to her voice, lovely though it was, and turned to his own thoughts. Ghosts . . . That was exactly what the witch woman was now, a ghost. That apparition he had seen in his lair – that was a ghost. His life story was being written by a ghost . . . How was it that the dead still maintained power of the living? Why had her spells not snapped the bonds that bound him once she died? It was beyond him to answer, but he had a strange, irking feeling that the witch woman was not dead. The sylphs would not be under her command, and the castle and lands enchanted if she were.  
  
He growled, and Beauty broke off from talking. He stalked off without offering an explanation as to his sudden mood swing, when she called him back.  
  
"Beast – I, " she stumbled tentatively, watching his face, "I wrote a letter home," she thrust the paper she had been fiddling with behind her back into the open, "to my family. I was wondering if you would send it for me?" She looked so lost and forlorn that he knew he would be a beastly oaf not to oblige her. But he stood there, his face impassive, while the whirring clockwork of his mind shuffled through thoughts filled with conflicting emotions. He was angry. At her mother, at her. Usually, he would be driven to spend a few hours stalking savagely in the forest, taking out his mood on the inhabiting animals, but she had invaded his space, just as she had invaded elsewhere in the castle.   
  
He snatched it from her on impulse, and ignored the urge to shred it to bits before her eyes. There was something in those golden eyes that made him ashamed to act like his namesake, something that made him wish he acted with more humanity. He tried to attempt a smile, but she still looked apprehensive. What difference did smiling make? She probably thought he was showing all his teeth in order to be sly. A line popped up from his childhood: "The better to eat you with, m'dear." Said the wolf to the girl.   
  
He shook this thought from his mind too. "I'll have the sylphs deliver it your family's cottage."  
  
Beauty smiled, her pleasure showing genuinely. "Thank you." She turned to head for the gate. The Beast blinked owlishly, a great clumsy night creature caught in the warm, blinding light. He watched her go, her gown swishing gently against the grass. Even after the iron gate clanged shut, he kept his eyes trained in that direction. Only a few moments later, did he realize that he had been staring, clamping the letter tightly in his fist. Beauty. He turned the name over on his tongue, looking down at the crumpled letter. He shook his head; he had been doing that way too often. If he didn't know himself better, he would have said that he had been caught, a prey stunned by a cunning huntress.   
  
But he knew himself, inside out. He knew that he had no use for girls, especially for daughters of witches. He had not been caught in her net. Her shining yellow hair did not impress him. All the girls at the court in his human days had golden hair. He had shining yellow hair too. But that's gone, he whispered to himself, to the rising wind. He lifted one illusioned hand to touch his once blonde hair. He dragged one long strand out; it was blonde, his eyes told him. But his fingers, or rather, his paws, they told him a different story. They told him the story of a vain, selfish, dreadful king who was altered so that his interior nature became his physical appearance. Blonde hair to brown fur. Smooth, ivory hands to rough, hairy paws. But his eyes – they remained blue and human. And they, of all things could not lie. His eyes and his heart (what little was left) told him that if he wasn't careful, he could end up falling for the girl. He scoffed, shooting up a wisp of air. Who ever heard of a Beast loving a Beauty, and having her love him back? He looked again at the thin paper in his hands. He wouldn't send it for her. He would rip it up, never let her family know what had become of her. There, he smiled in satisfaction. It was an act of defiance, defying the sylphs who wished for an end to the enchantment, defying the witch who would teach him a lesson, defying Beauty who did not fear him, and defying himself for even thinking of being ensnared by the girl's eyes. His mind was his own, his heart his own. He was not going to fulfill the witch's term. He was not going to know suffering and sacrifice any time soon, if he could help it.   
  
He stuffed the letter in his velvet jacket pocket, and jauntily, on all fours, marched past the iron gate, the twanging of the swinging gate echoing agreeably in his ears. 


	8. Gargoyles

**Transformation**

**By Calcifersgrl**

**Chapter 8: Gargoyles**

It wasn't for another two days that the Beast could no longer abide with the rumbling pain in his stomach. He needed to eat now. A quick peek out of the thick, dusty curtains told him that the forest was no longer safe for him to roam about. The air had cleared up and was now a wide layer of light blue, something he had not seen for a long time. He muttered under his breath. The girl was at it again. Something had to be done about the changing atmosphere.

He charged out of his lair, flinging the door open with his signature snarl. Sirena was at the end of the hall, with several other sylphs he hadn't bothered to know. She turned around sharply, her gaze placating him. He stopped in his mad rush.

"I'm hungry," he complained. And as if to emphasize his point, his stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly.

Sirena smiled at him. "Hunt with my blessing."

He stared at her, astonished. "Did you see what she did to my forest?"

"Your forest? You must mean the blue sky." She grinned cheekily; some of the natural iciness in her voice melted away. "She is much more than we had hoped for. More than you had bargained for, I see. She's in the throne room, it seems."

"The throne room?" He smarted, feeling very furious. He did not bother to wait for an answer to his question and bounded down the flight of stairs. He had not set foot in the throne room since that fateful day when his servants were changed to gargoyles and his people became a part of a different kingdom. He felt a twinge of guilt in roping his household in with his curse. Some servants had not been corrupt and cruel; some had only acted badly because their disobedience resulted in their death. Others had been more than happy to oblige their hard-hearted king and whip the peasants until they were exhausted. Still, he felt a chill run down his spine. The thought of the eerie moveable eyes of the gargoyles watching him made his skin creep.

She sensed him before he was scarcely in the throne room. He was shrouded in darkness, watching the glow emanate from her small figure. She turned quickly and said, "Beast." She curtsied before him as he approached standing up straight. "Your gargoyles are interesting."

"Hmm?" He was too busy watching her to listen to the words tumbling from her mouth.

"Your gargoyles," she repeated. She smiled shyly. "I like them."

_I like them_. He was startled into paying attention, feeling the chill run down his spine, though he wasn't quite sure whether it was because she was smiling at him or because he felt the gargoyles' sudden interest in the discussion. He stiffened.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, suddenly afraid as she watched the furrow between his eyebrows deepen and the corners of his mouth tighten.

"Yes, you!" he snapped, moody. _She shouldn't be in here_, he thought to himself. "You shouldn't be in here," he said aloud, and gripped one thin wrist in his. She allowed herself to be easily led – perhaps, because if she had resisted, he might have torn her arm from its socket, or perhaps, she too, heard the infrasonic sound of stone ears bending to listen – and looked on in mute wonder as the Beast all but dragged her to the threshold, and slammed the door shut behind them with one powerful thrust of his foot.

Author's Note: I haven't updated this story for three-four years. I probably won't update this story, it's just that I found this chapter which I had written that many years ago, still sitting on my computer. It seemed a waste to just let it sit there. So, read and review, and maybe, if you _just_ like the story enough, review it and ask me to continue.

Otherwise, cheers! )

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